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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724703">On Roman Roads</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau'>galimau</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724703</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galimau/pseuds/galimau</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The line between future and past is a complicated, winding one. But it only moved in one direction. At least, that's what Alex had assumed.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Yassen Gregorovich &amp; Alex Rider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gen Freeform Exchange2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On Roman Roads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Queen_DoS/gifts">Silver_Queen_DoS</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fagin, the information broker. </p><p>Yasha didn't like him, but no one did. </p><p>Fagin had something more valuable than being liked: he was useful. Knew a little about everything that went on in the city, and more besides. If he wasn't the right person to talk to, he could point you to who was, for a price. It was a profitable business and Dima took part. Most of the time they were too poor to buy tips off of him, but he took his cut in other ways. </p><p>Portions of a job, trading favors and tips about what they'd seen while they were on the streets. Every time they went to visit, Fagin eyed them like he knew that there were much more profitable businesses than just theiving, if they'd only had the courage to try. Dima had talked burglaries.</p><p>Yasha, the youngest and the smallest, was more wary by half. </p><p>But he wasn't here to try and argue, he was here to make sure that whatever information they were told wasn't forgotten in a bottle of vodka or on a bad grudge. It wasn't like Dima to be forgetful, but they'd had a hard couple weeks already.</p><p>He'd thought it would be worth the risk. </p><p>Yasha regretted it almost instantly once they were through the door.</p><p>Fagin was talking with a strange blonde man by the back corner. He was tall and looked strong without any pretenses, unlike the sucked-in guts of security forces near the pawnshop or even the desperate confidence of Dima's huge leather jacket. </p><p>"We should come back," Yasha murmured. "When he's not busy."</p><p>Dima never seemed to listen. He was playing oblivious, moving deeper into the shop, trying to catch their conversation. Not that he needed to try very hard. Both of them were speaking in normal, if vicious tones. </p><p>Despite the door promising freedom at his back, Yasha crept closer too.</p><p>"-don't get a new job, this one pays well enough if you'd follow through," Fagin hissed. He was smiling, but even without the jumble of yellow teeth in his mouth, no one in their right mind would trust the expression on his face.</p><p>The man scowled back.</p><p>"No pay is worth risking prison. If the client wants it done, I need more information." </p><p>Before coming to Moscow, Yasha wouldn’t have been able to place his accent. He still couldn’t, not exactly, but he knew it sounded foreign. If he was in Russia, working with Fagin and was caught, prison would probably be the least of his problems. There were plenty of people in Moscow from all over, but the government didn’t look fondly on criminals who didn’t even have the decency to be Russian. </p><p>The foreign man must have had a point, whatever job they were discussing, because Fagin pulled a foul face and swore at him. Living off Tverskaya, Yasha’s vocabulary had grown considerably. Even so, he was sure he’d learned some new phrases just then.</p><p>“You don’t need more information, you just need a second body,” Fagin grumbled but was already giving in, flipping back open his grimy notebook.</p><p>That was the opening Dima had been waiting for. </p><p>“You need help on a job?”</p><p>He sounded eager, and maybe that was what gave the desperation of their visit away. </p><p>The man withdrew, eyeing Dima and Yasha behind him with sharp brown eyes. It seemed clear that he’d noticed and dismissed them earlier, and was reassessing now. Yasha met the stare and kept very blank. No matter how much he sometimes wished it were otherwise, Dima did the talking when they were out finding jobs. </p><p>Normally, it grated. But the man was staring at Yasha with a faint furrow in his brow. It seemed too intent a look to be directed at a beggar with quick fingers, and Yasha shifted his slight form behind Dima’s bulk. </p><p>Fagin answered, “A body, not help.” He ignored Dima aside from that, still ruffling through his little book. He dealt with all types of criminals, and a collection of petty thieves couldn’t compare to the real business. This, whatever it was, was what kept him afloat, and what kept his reputation sharp enough to be untouchable. </p><p>“I’ve got bodies,” Dima said. </p><p>But the man was already shaking his head, his attention on them slipping away. “It could be dangerous. Someone experienced.”</p><p>Yasha winced. It was fair, but if there had been a chance to back out and come back later, seeking out a better job, the casual dismissal had doomed it. </p><p>Dima squared his shoulders, spat on the floor and glowered at the foreigner in the way that made his crooked nose look even worse. “I’m plenty experienced.”</p><p>“You’re also noticeable.”</p><p>“Yasha isn’t.” Dima said it, jerking his head toward the boy behind. Then he paused, as if he didn’t quite believe what he’d just said. Yasha, standing behind him, could barely believe it himself.</p><p>The offer was bad enough, but what was worse was the way that Fagin stopped paging through his book. </p><p>“He’s your biggest earner.” It wasn’t a question. A flat accounting of interests.</p><p>And at that, Dima seemed to get nervous. Like he’d finally understood what he was playing with.</p><p>“Yes,” he agreed, more cautious now. “So if the job’s too dangerous, I’m not sure I’d want to risk it after all. Not like I know who this is.” </p><p>“Someone who makes more money than you,” was the acidic answer. Fagin had <em> ideas </em> about backing out of deals. And because the need for money had driven them here in the first place, Dima went silent. He tossed an encouraging look over his shoulder to Yasha, but it felt more like a slap than a sign of friendship. </p><p>If he was really going to do anything, they’d be turning around and leaving. If he had really wanted to keep Yasha safe, he’d have kept his mouth shut in the first place.</p><p>The man looked unhappy, but kept silent.</p><p>“It’s not that bad of an option. Anyone else would take time and cost more money,” Fagin said to him. “And this practically fell into your lap. His pay will come out of your share, since you’re the one requesting him.”</p><p>If he were braver, Yasha would have said that no one had actually requested anything, and that he should have had some type of say in this whole thing. But here, standing in Fagin’s office with a stranger and with Dima’s pride on the line, it was hard to see what good it could do.</p><p>He’d been through worse. There was nothing that could happen that was worse than watching his home burn, and as long as he kept that secret inside him, next to his ribs, he could push through anything. </p><p>Yasha hoped that that would prove true. </p><p>“What do you say?” Dima prompted. Hearing that Yasha would be paid, and knowing that that pay would end up in his hands seemed to have loosened his reservations. </p><p>Looking frustrated with the terms of payment, or maybe the world at large, the man nodded. Passed his hand through his mess of blonde hair </p><p>“I’ll be back with him and the money in a week.”</p><p>When he left, slinging a large canvas bag over one shoulder, he caught Yasha’s eye. There was that odd expression on his face again, but no time to parse it. </p><p>Yasha followed after him, trying not to wonder this meant for his future. Or if it was even likely that he had one any more.</p>
<hr/><p>They walked through the twisting streets for a while. Yasha had learned them all, but he was surprised that the stranger kept his orientation. It wasn’t an easy part of town to know, had taken him weeks to remember what streets cut where, which ones ended suddenly and where they doubled back on each other. </p><p>The man must have been in town longer than Yasha had assumed.</p><p>Slowly they made their way out of the worst buildings, where the upper levels were condemned and the bottom floors were crowded and into the apartment blocks that were simply utilitarian and sparse. It wasn’t fear keeping them together, but Yasha didn’t let that make him comfortable. He stayed half a step behind the man’s stride, keeping pace and taking the corners wide in case he needed to get away. </p><p>Where he’d go, he wasn’t sure. </p><p>Eventually, after three flights of stairs and an unfriendly metal door, they came to a stop in what had to be the man’s rooms. At least, he entered like he knew where he was. Yasha lingered behind like he’d done all day. Watched the bag hit the floor with a thud that betrayed how heavy it must have been. </p><p>“Close the door.”</p><p>It wasn’t the best thing to hear but it made sense. If they were about to talk about the job that was worth making both their lives more complicated, it wouldn’t do to have any ears listening in. And no matter how much being here made Yasha’s teeth ache from clenching them together, wary and stressed, he hadn’t managed to forget that he’d been the man’s second choice.</p><p><em> A body, not help </em>. </p><p>It left him feeling disposable to whatever the man was planning. </p><p>He closed the door carefully, making sure the latch didn’t click and lock him into an apartment that he’d be hard-pressed to escape. The windows didn’t look like they’d open any time soon. </p><p>The measure of security must have been what the man was waiting for, because his posture loosened. Grabbing one of the flimsy chairs in the corner, he flipped it around to sit in, watching Yasha linger in the doorway. </p><p>“Your name's Yasha?" The man eventually asked. He'd been told it earlier, but there was something different in his tone now. A bit softer, away from the shop. As if he were aware of how uneasy Yasha must be, having been bartered off by his partner. His friend, he'd hoped, but right now that word felt sour.</p><p>Yasha nodded.</p><p>"I'm Alex," the man offered. He didn't hold out his hand, but he looked Yasha in the eye and nodded back. It helped more than he'd guessed it would. </p><p>He didn't want to be here, but it made him feel just a little less like the man would leave him behind to make things simpler on himself or to cut his take out of the profit.</p><p>Yasha steeled his chest.</p><p>"So what job are we doing?"</p><p>Alex looked down at him for a long minute. When he spoke, he ignored the question. </p><p>"How old are you?" </p><p>There were plenty of reasons to distrust that question. Most of them, Yasha didn't want to think too closely about. He bristled and stepped a quick retreat. There were stairs behind him that would be easy to sprint down, and plenty of cracks in the city to vanish into. Dima would be furious if he returned without any money, and even moreso if it ruined their relationship with Fagin, but after today Yasha’s fondness for Dima was in short supply.</p><p>Alex seemed to realize his misstep. </p><p>"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Your partner back there was older than you, and I'm not used to working with kids," he said. He grimaced around the words as he said them, like he was tasting something odd. </p><p>It sounded reasonable, but Yasha wasn't expecting someone in business with Fagin to care about his age.</p><p>"I'm good at what I do," he insisted.</p><p>And it was true. Dima hadn't just offered him up because he was replaceable, in the grand scheme of their lives. Yasha was the smallest and looked the sweetest to beg coins out of tight purses, and he had the most nimble fingers besides. He'd earned his place in the tattered apartment that they shared, and there was a type of pride in that.</p><p>Alex seemed to agree, but he didn’t look happy.</p><p>"I’d guess that. You don't seem like you're taking this job lightly, and you haven't let me get between you and the door. You also haven't gotten close enough for me to grab without lunging." He didn’t quite hold up his hand to count the observations on his fingers, but it seemed like it was a near thing.  </p><p>He said all that like it was obvious, but at that, Yasha was mystified. He hadn't put that much thought into it, just the memory of his parents' friend and a few close calls. It didn't seem all that notable. Just common sense when you wanted to stay alive. </p><p>"I'm not stupid, either." And if it came out a bit too sharp, a bit too much of himself in the words. Well. Yasha had already had a miserably long day. </p><p>Alex seemed to find it more funny than annoying. He paused, seemed to let the words sink in, and then grinned at Yasha, huge and honest. It made his whole face look younger, less severe. More like he could have been one of the older boys - young men, really - on the stoops outside, rather than a former soldier like Fagin. Of the bratva or the government. There wasn't much a difference, aside from Yasha thinking more kindly of the bratva most days. </p><p>“No, you’re not. I’d just wondered if you’d been trained.”</p><p><em> Trained. </em> The word struck him as odd. Alex clearly wasn’t stupid either, but Yasha wondered again about who he was and how he’d ended up in Fagin’s shop. It wasn’t as if people were lining up to train kids, much less kids like Yasha. The most he could say was that before his world ended, he’d been good at his classes. </p><p>His doubt must have shown on his face, because Alex pursed his lips and looked away. Something had been bothering him since he’d first laid eyes on Yasha in the shop, but it was his own problem to grapple with.</p><p>Yasha kept his silence, waiting for him to let the topic drop and move to the job they had to do. Instead, Alex just kept looking into the distance. There was a window in front of him, but Yasha wasn’t sure he was noticing much on the other side. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but he still looked young. Everyone Yasha had met in Moscow seemed like they’d been forgotten by time, older than their years and in bodies that had taken too many beatings. </p><p>Right now, for all the danger that he’d seen coiled in him in Fagin’s shop, Alex looked a little lost. </p><p>It wasn’t as if his age was that much of a secret. No one had bothered to ask since he’d gotten here, was all. Even his friends knew that he was young and that had been that.</p><p>“Fourteen. And I don’t know what type of training you mean.” Yasha said it to the side of Alex’s head, then busied himself getting the dirt out from under his nails. It was a pointless task, but it felt better than looking him in the eye after a personal admission. </p><p>He’d expected… something. That it would make Alex feel better about this to get an answer. </p><p>What he got instead was Alex grinning again, this time far more bitterly.</p><p>“Of course you are.”</p><p>Yasha had no idea what to do with that, so he just stood there. Alex waited, but with neither of them sure how to fill the silence, it quickly turned stale.</p><p>"Have you heard of the Noorseekee scam?" Alex asked, finally getting to business rather than lingering in the personal. He didn’t expand on what he’d meant by training, but if this took a week after all, there would be time for that later.</p><p>Yasha shook his head. </p><p>Alex didn't look surprised.</p><p>"It's not exactly unique as far as schemes go, but there's a few parts that make it stand out. It gained notoriety when the Afghan conflict ended and the military here was left with a lot of time and not much to do with it. A soldier goes to trade in a brass bowl in a market, some place where they buy loose ends cheap to see what they might be able to sell later," he paused and glanced at Yasha to see if he was following along. “Then someone else who’s in on it, usually in the same unit, comes by and buys them at an exorbitant rate. The next time someone offers to sell the bowls, the merchant buys them all for a higher price. It goes back and forth for a few more times until, like you can probably guess, someone promises a huge delivery of these expensive bowls as long as they can get paid upfront. They take the money and vanish, and the bowls were useless all along.” </p><p>“What were they?” Yasha asked. He was getting interested despite himself. It didn’t sound much more complicated than when they tried to get more money out of the pawnshop. </p><p>“Missile caps. For shipping.”</p><p>“So we’re going to try and sell fake bowls.” </p><p>At that, Alex paused and gave him a very long look. It felt heavier than the puzzled frustration from earlier. Professional, not just personal. </p><p>“It’s not the missile caps this time, but that’s not important. Fagin told me about the job to get some fast money. We’re not touching the scam itself, but there’s about to be a very literal truck of money that no one in the military wants to own up to, offloading a lot of worthless materials. We’re taking the truck.”</p><p>Yasha stood in the doorway, trying to piece the words together into something that made sense. </p><p>You didn’t steal from the military. You just didn’t. Not because it was wrong, but because there was nothing to stop them from getting back at you in whatever way they wanted. </p><p>Back in the shop, Alex had said the job was dangerous, but Yasha hadn’t expected it to be suicidal. </p><p>“What do you need me for?” He asked, hoping dearly that the answer wasn’t ‘bait’. The sinking feeling in his gut said otherwise. </p><p>Instead of answering, Alex grimaced and rubbed his hand over his mouth. Like he was trying to wipe the expression away and return to the impassivity of before.</p><p>“A distraction, at first. Someone to keep an eye out. Finger pockets or help me with doors.” </p><p>Yasha let out a shuddering breath. That was all doable. More or less.</p><p>The conversation felt like a trap cinching closed around his ankle, as sure as anything he’d seen in the woods back home. He wasn’t quite desperate enough yet to try and chew his way free. </p><p>“Okay then.”</p><p>“I meant what I said back at Fagin’s,” Alex said. He wasn’t looking at Yasha any more. Staring at the bag he’d brought in instead. “In a week I’m bringing you back, and the money. I’ll figure out how to do it alone if I have to.” </p><p>That was less likely than the military deciding to hand over the money and wave them on their way. </p><p>Yasha scoffed, low in his throat and leaned back, slamming the door the rest of the way shut with his tiny shoulders and heard the lock click. There was no way out anyways. Might as well stop pretending.</p><p>He’d been lent out for this job because he was good and fast and because Dima was too proud to know when he was in over his head. No matter what Alex said, he knew where he stood.</p><p>Alex blew out a long breath, leaned down to open his bag, taking his time with the leather straps. Kept it angled so Yasha couldn’t see inside. Eventually, he straightened up, holding up a bundle of cash.</p><p>More than Yasha had seen in a long time. More than he’d ever earned.</p><p>“This isn’t as much as your cut would be for the job, but I don’t have money right now. I don’t think that anyone would doubt you if you turned up in a week and told them I’d shorted you.”</p><p>He set the money on the table behind him. </p><p>Yasha eyed it, tried not to feel the hunger in his stomach.</p><p>There was every chance that if he turned up and Alex didn’t, having some money would look worse than none at all. </p><p>But that was also enough money to get him out of the city entirely.</p><p>If it <em> wasn’t </em> a hidden knife in the back, it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. </p><p>And maybe it made him a worse idiot than any of the people he’d met who fell for his big eyes and sob stories on the corner, but Yasha wanted this to be real.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Alex frowned, didn’t bother to try and wipe it away. He still looked sadder than the situation called for.</p><p>“You’re still a kid. I don’t know why you’re here and I’m not going to ask, but you should be in school. Since I can’t help with that, you should at least be safer than robbing a military truck.”</p><p>A thin mattress and no food and money always running out. It was a type of safety.</p><p>Yasha crossed his legs, sank down to the floor to stare up at Alex. There was something wild and reckless in his chest that reminded him of leaping onto the train for Moscow, of taking to ground with dogs on his heels and the soldiers trying to run him down. </p><p>“I’d rather come with you.” </p><p>Alex was shaking his head, but Yasha was more sure the longer he thought about it. If it could help, if it meant he got enough money to actually get away, then… maybe this was what he’d been waiting for the whole time. Better than begging.</p><p>He stuck his hand out. Like Alex had avoided doing before.</p><p>“I <em> am </em>coming with you,” he rephrased. </p><p>It was an awkward reach with Alex still on the chair and looking torn, with Yasha’s small arm only barely able to span the distance. Alex let out what was distinctly a curse as foul as any of Fagin’s, but in a language Yasha didn’t recognize. His accent had faded while they’d been speaking in the apartment, and it was only now that Yasha really remembered he wasn’t just foreign to Moscow, but Russia at all. </p><p>Alex reached back.</p><p>“I’ll try to keep you alive. It’s the least I owe you.” </p><p>Yasha could have told him that Alex didn’t owe him anything, not yet. But he wasn’t about to argue with the only person trying to help him who didn’t want to charge him money for the privilege.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, summoning manners his mother had drilled into him a lifetime ago.</p><p>“You too, Yasha.”</p><p>And then, still shaking his hand, Alex began to laugh.</p>
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